


Don't you leave me, you fucker.

by renegadeartist



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: AU, its sad, season 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 10:21:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1601387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renegadeartist/pseuds/renegadeartist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: write tucker’s reaction to seeing wash dead before he can rescue him</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't you leave me, you fucker.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MistyMoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyMoon/gifts).



> prepare for tears

He wasn’t used to loss.

 

In all his years in the army, or, rather, fake army, he could count the number of dead team members on one hand. Church didn’t count, he was alive. Well, in a way. But at the same time he really wasn’t. Epsilon wasn’t him. There were those small details that no one else seemed to notice. He did, and he couldn’t help but feel that Church had died at Command.

 

That was one.

 

What were the others? He couldn’t really recall. They were before Blood Gulch, before all the shit that happened to him. But now? Now there were so many deaths on his hands, his lieutenants for one. Or two. Whatever. At least Palomo was still alive, though for how long he couldn’t say.

 

“Hey, uh, Captain?” a voice broke through his thoughts. He considered snapping at the private for a moment before he realized not only was it a dumbass idea but Palomo didn’t deserve it, after all that had happened. And he didn’t want to alert the Feds to their location.

 

“What?”

 

“We found them.”

 

He stared dully at the private. It was a joke. It was in no way that easy. In the movies it was never that easy.  _This is real life, dumbass,_ he reprimanded himself. “Palomo you better not be fucking with me.”

 

He threw his arms up, shaking his head vigorously. “No, no, no. I’m serious. But-“

 

“Then let’s fucking get them! Why are you just standing there?” Didn’t he get it? It was  _W_ _ash._ He had to see him again. To know he was alright. To apologize and punch him for pulling such a dumbass move on them. “Where are they?”

 

He pointed over to an innocuous looking metal structure. It was squat and grey and it looked like any other building in the area. “Over there, but there’s something you need to know-“

 

But he was already gone, practically sprinting to the prison block. He didn’t get far. Palomo grabbed his arm, frantically yelling “ _Stop!_ ”

 

He swung around, a scary look on his face. If he hadn’t been wearing a helmet the private would not have kept his hand firmly locked on his captain’s forearm. “ _What?_ What is so important? It’s  _Wash_. He’s in there and we need to get him _out!”_

 

Palomo flinched. “I-it’s just that…”

 

“ _What?”_  Tucker ground out.

 

“They-they didn’t make it.”

 

There was a beat of silence, and Tucker’s mind raced at a million miles an hour. What? How could he be dead? He was a freelancer, he was Wash. Wash couldn’t die; he was too good for that.  _I’m a dumbass, it’s a joke. It’s not true._

 

He walked stiffly to the cell block, finding some of Grif’s squad standing around, making sure no Feds got in. They let Tucker pass, and he was in a dark room with a terrible scent.  _They can’t be dead._   _Wash can’t be dead._

 

On the ground were two figures. They weren’t armored. One was a man he recognized as Sarge, his scowl still etch into his face. But it was too pale. The other had blond hair and scars all over. He looked pained.  _This is Wash,_ he thought.

 

“The red team leader, ‘Sarge,’ died of blood loss. Shotgun wound, and multiple incisions. He shouldn’t have lasted as long as he did. Freelancer Washington, died of starvation and physical abuse. Yeah they were both tortured.” The lieutenant said behind him. He barely registered anything past “tortured.”

 

He kneeled down next to Wash. “H-hey. Asshole. Get up. Y-you can’t be dead.” His voice, embarrassingly, cracked. When he received no answer he practically crashed to the ground, tearing off his helmet and roughly wiping his eyes.

 

He glanced over at Sarge. The man’s voice was fading from his mind but his face was still there, glaringly white and lifeless. He dully registered Grif and Simmons enter. They stood there for a moment, shocked speechless.

 

He looked back at Wash. “Y-you ass,” he choked out. “I can’t belive you would just  _leave us_ like this.  _Were we not good enough for you?!? Did we not live up to your fucking pals at Freelancer?”_ He was screaming, his face wet and salty. Why was he crying? He didn’t deserve his tears.

 

But he did. Out of everyone he knew, Wash deserved it the most. He deserved so much more then the shitty life he got. Dying of starvation. What a shitty way to go.

 

Fuck.

 

Fuck.

 

_Stop crying. Stop it._

 

He noticed that he was holding something. It was a grimy piece of something, clenched in his fist. He reached forward, hesitating for a moment. It took him too long to pry the paper from his stiff, dead fingers. On it was one word.

 

_Sorry._

 

There was a click behind him. It reverberated through the small cell. He hadn’t noticed he had been screaming until he stopped. He saw Simmons and Grif lying on the floor, blood pooling around their prone forms.

 

A vague memory resurfaced for a moment.

 

“ _You have to stop screaming, dude! I know you’re mad but you have to keep quiet! We’re still in a live warzone!” Grif had yelled at him, only stopping when a dark figure stalked in, raising his rifle and…_

 

Gripping his energy sword, he heard Locus say, “Stay still and it will all be over.”

 

_Fuck you, you fucking **monster.**_

 

He swept around, and before he could activate his sword and plunge it through Locus’s heart, he was falling.

 

He landed with a thud right next to Wash.

 

The blood seeped through his armor, and he realized dully that taking off his helmet and screaming at the dead Freelancer was probably not the smartest idea. Locus turned, and Tucker noticed someone standing in the doorway, holding a beat up magnum.  _Palomo._

 

He was shaking and crying and suddenly he understood why Wash had done what he had.

 

With the rest of his strength he threw his sword across the room, slicing through Locus’s armor. It switched off and he fell to his knees.

 

“ _GET OUT OF HERE PALOMO!”_

 

The private bolted just as Locus raised his rifle.

 

_At least he survived._


End file.
